


Always walked a very thin line

by Fortitude



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: (don't worry it doesn't last), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ignores The Magicians Season 5, M/M, Minor Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Quentin is dead for a hot minute, The Magicians Season 4 Ending Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortitude/pseuds/Fortitude
Summary: Quentin's brought back. It goes surprisingly well.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: A Million Little Times





	Always walked a very thin line

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Queliot Folklore event (I really can't believe TSwift wrote an entire album about them), with inspiration and title from the song Exile
> 
> When I signed up (and listened to this for the first time), this was not at all where I imagined this fic going. It was going to be fairly angsty and sad, and told mainly from Alice's perspective looking in. And then it just turned into 5k of Quentin and Eliot being surprisingly soft instead (it's what they deserve), so please go forth and enjoy the result of me being utterly incapable of sticking with my own plans and outlines

«Who here has actually been brought back before?» Alice says angrily, looking around the circle. None of them meet her gaze.   
«Have you forgotten that you weren’t actually dead, Alice?» Eliot speaks up, equally angry. «And just because you were happier as a niffin doesn’t mean Quentin is happier dead.» Alice scowls, well aware of how different the two situations are. She’d actually been present at the other one, unlike everyone else here.  
«I’m not saying we shouldn’t bring him back, Eliot,» she sighs eventually, defeated. «I’m saying that maybe you weren’t really here to see what state he was in before he died, and I don’t think spending months being dead will magically fix all that.»   
She takes a beat, pushing her glasses back up where they’d slid down the bridge of her nose. «I’m saying, maybe we should take a second to really think it through first. The Quentin that comes back might not be in the best headspace to be all that happy about not being dead anymore.»

__

One minute everything is cold, and dark, and quiet. The next, there are glaringly bright lights over head, and the sounds of nervous chattering around him. His body feels — stiff, unused. Strange, when he sits up, trying to wiggle his fingers and toes. Shaking out his hands, and the cobwebs from his brain.   
Then comes the warmth, and — pressure? And the most wonderful sound of all; a small, relieved laughter, right there in his ear. He can’t help but join in and hugging back, his vocal cords taking a minute to adjust to being used.   
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to calibrate how his body is supposed to work, but next comes the smell. Oh, the wonderful, familiar smell of dark sandalwood, and citrus, and… And the tickling of dark curls against his face, and the rough scrape of stubble against his cheek, and the insistent press of the buttons of a vest against his torso. He’s laughing again, without really knowing why.  
It’s Eliot, because of course it is. The Monster would never care to wear cologne or vests, and it certainly wouldn’t have held him so tightly, not like this. 

It’s a golem, they tell him, once he has gotten a better bearing of his surroundings and a nearly crushing hug from Julia as well. Or, well, maybe it’s not a golem anymore, since it’s not sharing his life force with his actual body, who actually knows how this really works. Maybe it’s just a new body now, that just happens to be made in the same way, shape and form of a golem.  
They’d «traded» Fogg for the living clay needed with an expensive bottle of whiskey, apparently, but the smirk on Margo’s face as she says so tells him it was probably more like "snuck in to his office during the night and cheekily stole, then justified it with leaving him a bottle of his favorite whiskey" than anything else.   
To be completely honest, he’s a little surprised Margo’s even here, and not in Fillory trying to get back her throne. («Got myself banished, remember? It’s next on the to do list, but this felt more urgent, so please don’t die again anytime soon. Nerd,» is all she says when he mentions it, but she sounds utterly fond. He nearly chokes up with tears over how much she cares, truly.)

The spell had taken them a while to work out, they say. Alice and Julia had worked on it, together, almost day and night for months. Penny had helped too, apparently, giving him a metro card that would take him to another holding station instead of moving on, somewhere it was easier for them to come get him. He nearly cried again, and was ready to blame it on the new body. Probably wasn’t used to feeling things, or maybe it just needed to clear out its tear ducts properly.

Sometime during this explanation, Alice had slipped out in to the hallway outside the penthouse. As soon as the others would let him out of their sight, he followed her. 

«I know I wasn’t here for most of your time with the Monster, but I wish I’d seen how unhappy you were sooner. I think that maybe I didn’t want to really think about why you were so adamant we save Eliot,» Alice says, sounding small somehow. She’s purposely avoiding looking him in the eye, in favor of examining the pattern of the hallway carpet.  
«Alice, I…» Quentin starts, preparing to launch a long explanation of how he’d do the same for anyone in their little group. Except maybe Penny.  
(Okay, also Penny. Probably.)  
«It’s okay, Q, I see it now,» she interrupts, and Quentin frowns, confused about what she’s seeing that he’s missed. «And besides, I think maybe we would’ve been better off as friends from the start. We’ve tried this now, and I can’t see it really ending any different for us this time. Us, together, it was forced from the start, right? That’s what Jane did back at Brakebills, with the symbol on your hand, so you’d search me out and we’d start working together. And don’t even get me started on Brakebills South, with Mayakovsky and fox hormones — maybe it’s time we finally stop forcing it.»   
She briefly looks up at him, a determined look on her face as she untucks her arms from where they’ve been folded over her chest and reaches one hand out, like she’s expecting him to shake it. Quentin pulls her in to a hug, refusing to end their relationship with a handshake, as if it’d been some mutually beneficial business deal. Alice makes a surprised, high-pitched noise before putting her arms around him too and hugging back.  
«I love you, Vix,» he whispers into her ear, and she responds with an equally soft and quiet, «I love you, too, Q» and then it’s over.   
It should feel sadder, maybe, or perhaps they’ve both known for some time that it had been over. That this last attempt at a relationship had only been them desperately clinging on to the last remnants of safe and comfortable, the closest thing to a home, in a world that was anything but those things.   
Alice shuffles awkwardly backwards, again keeping her eyes firmly trained on the floor. «Zelda’s asked me to help her rebuild the Library, and I think I might accept it. We’re gonna try to make all the magical knowledge a little more accessible to everyone, and now that Everrett is gone, there’s a good opportunity there, I think. Might be good to get out of here for a while, and,» she says, a soft, sad smile on her face, «I think you’re in good hands here, even without me.»   
Alice looks over Quentins shoulder, in through the open door where he knows everyone else are trying to clean up the remnants of the spell and pretending they’re not curious what’s going on out in the hallway. Quentin lets out a chuckle, already imagining Julia being overprotective and helpful to a point of no longer really helping, like she has been before. He loves her, dearly.  
«Yeah, I think so too.»  
And then he lets out a big yawn.   
«Yeah, so much for eternal rest and all that, I’m pretty beat,» Quentin says with a smile, before walking backwards through the door and in to the penthouse, leaving Alice looking just a little bit forlorn and small in the wide hall, and he swears there’s a wet shine in her eyes. 

Quentin heads to the bathroom first, not stopping to talk to anyone else. He hopes they will understand, how exhausting everything is. How much everything is right now. And so far, today has been an endless stream of new impressions after months of dullness, emotional ups and downs. Jeez, he’d only been alive for just over an hour. And it’s not like he remembers all that much of being dead, beyond Penny giving him the metro card. Which probably means there hadn’t been all that many impressions made, and it’s an even bigger contrast to this.

It’s this body’s first ever shower, and the feeling is so strange to Quentin. It’s him, but it’s also not. He spends so much time staring at himself in the mirror, examining every mole and freckle in the bright lights of the bathroom, that Julia knocks on the door and ask if everything is all right before he’s even had time to turn on the water in the shower.   
He feels — fresher, after. More at home in this body, warm and safe and secure, now that he knows that the scrapes and scars of his clumsy childhood with Julia are all still there, but there are no signs of scarring from when his body disintegrated at the Seam. Probably a little bit of illusion work, curtesy of Julia, if he were to guess.  
And, speaking of, Julia is the one ushering him into a bedroom, all but pushing him into bed. He allows it, even, knowing that it’s Julia’s way of mother hen-ing to make sure he’s really okay. And maybe just a little bit of an apology, too, for being so caught up in her own problems in the before. It’s good to be back, either way. And he’s not sure he would’ve been any better, had the roles been reversed. 

So, he’s fairly surprised when —half an hour? An hour? Four?— later, it’s Eliot knocking on the door. Or, well, saying knock-knock as he opens the door using one hand, the other holding a tray. He stops for a minute, taking in the sight of Quentin, alive, resting against the headboard of a bed he was fairly certain he had nearly never really slept in before.   
Eliot walks further in to the room, setting the tray down on the bed. He hikes his pants up a little, before sitting down on the edge, next to the food. «We didn’t really find anything on what to expect once you were back, so we’re really just running on Alice’s niffin experience here,» he says, quietly. Careful in every movement, unsure of everything, as his gaze lifts from where it had been resting on a loose thread in the sheets.   
«Which is just me trying to apologize for this,» Eliot jokes, weakly, gesturing towards the food on the tray between them. Quentin can see it properly, now, full of all the bland foods he remembers feeding Alice once upon a time. He swallows thickly and grimaces, and he can see the corner of Eliot’s mouth twitching in a half-smile as response.  
«Mhm, wow. Thanks. Oatmeal and watered-down — is that chamomile tea? —yeah, that was exactly what I wanted right now,» Quentin replies, dripping with sarcasm.   
«Figured you might want some food and then rest,» Eliot shrugs. «And, I’ve really missed you. It’s good to have you back.»  
Quentin puts his hand over Eliot’s where it’s resting on top of the quilt.   
«I missed you, too, before. When you where…»  
Eliot puts his other hand on top of Quentins and pats it gently. «Thanks for working so hard on getting me back, I know it wasn’t easy. I just wish it hadn’t… You didn’t have to die for me, Q,» he says, once again back to a quiet, subdued tone.   
It seems to be a running theme for everyone talking to him, for now. Speaking quietly, like he might get scared and run off if they don’t. He already resents the carefulness they inhabit now.  
A stilted silence raises between them, blanketing them. It’s tense and thick, choking, where it used to be comfortable. Quentin’s taken too long to answer, not that he knows how to reply to that. Oh, you know. It was worth it, when you got to live.  
Eliot gets up gingerly, heading for the door. «Right, I’ll just… Leave you to it then.» He clears his throat and puts his hand on the door handle.   
«Wait!» Quentin says. «I’m sorry, I…» He gestures vaguely with his left hand, right hand already pulling the tray of food closer. A red warmth is coloring his cheeks.   
«It’s alright,» Eliot says, softly. «Out of everyone here, you’re the one with the least to apologize for.»   
And with that, he leaves the room, leaving behind a frowning Quentin sitting on the bed. Eliot swears he can hear a quiet «you don’t either» through the door when he lingers outside, but eventually he decides it was just his imagination before walking away, unwelcome tears welling in his eyes. 

__

The next morning Quentin runs in to Julia in the kitchen, already preparing him more of the awfully bland oatmeal. He feels vaguely bad for how much of the stuff he had fed Alice before Mayakovsky sent him away. Had he ever really apologized for that? He doesn’t think he did. Maybe he should.  
«Hey, is Alice here?» he asks Julia, and she shakes her head.   
«No, she left earlier. Said something about Zelda and the Library. Penny and Kady went with her, so I’m sure she’s fine.» Julia hands him a cup of coffee and takes it, gratefully. It’s something to hold on to, something tangible and real, familiar. Though, it’s not nearly as warm as he wishes it had been, but he doesn’t say anything. Quentin is going to allow her to fret and protect, might even relish it a little.  
«Is — Is everything okay with you two?» Julia asks after a long pause. Careful, like she’s hesitant to even ask.  
Quentin sighs, setting his cup down on the counter, but still keeping one hand on it. Twisting and turning the cup around, fiddling with it.   
«She broke up with me yesterday. Said our relationship had been forced from the start and that we’d be better off as friends.»  
Julia lets her hands drop from the wooden spoon she’d used to stir his oatmeal and engulfs him in a quick hug.   
«Then let me ask you again, are you sure you’re okay?»  
Quentin pinches his nose, letting his hands drag across his face. «I honestly don’t know. It seemed like an amicable split, but it was still sudden and confusing, you know? And I had very recently been brought back to life, so… She said some really confusing things about Eliot, I think? I—I really don’t know how to feel about all of it.»   
Julia hums to let him know she’s still there, listening, allowing him to gather his thoughts before he continues.  
«And I guess it just feels weird that Alice felt she needed to leave, she’s lived here more than I have these last few months. Why shouldn’t it be me living somewhere else, if she’s uncomfortable with us being in the same house now that we’re not together anymore?»  
Julia just gives him an incredulous look, like she can’t quite fathom how he’s being this stupid. It’s a look he knows well, and yet he can’t quite understand why she’s giving it to him now. It’s followed by a very pointed glance towards the living room couch, where Eliot has just sat down after seeing Margo and Josh through the clock to reclaim the throne. It really doesn’t clear up any of the confusion for Quentin, he really can’t see where she’s going with this. He supposes it’s probably connected to the exact same thing Alice was trying to say, but he still can’t quite grasp what it is. It’s frustrating, apparently having everyone around him connecting dots he didn’t even know existed.  
The confusion must be evident on his face, because Julia’s features soften just a smidgen. There might be just a hint of pity there, a familiar one, like all the times before when Julia has listened to Quentin not quite knowing what’s going on around him.  
«Okay, I’m going to say this exactly once, so pay attention,» she says, clearly noticing how Quentin has already been distracted now, being aware of Eliot being nearby. Quentins eyes are drawn towards him, naturally. Last time he’d been in the apartment, Eliot hadn’t been Eliot. It’s good to see him.  
«You literally died to save Eliot’s life, after months of shutting down every single plan that might’ve ended with him getting hurt or dying. Then, when it ended with you dying instead, he nearly ran himself ragged trying to find a way to get you back, while still in recovery from what was essentially possession by an evil god baby with no regards to a healthy lifestyle and then taking literal axes to the stomach. I’m not saying there’s necessarily anything between you two, but with the lengths you’re both willing to go to for each other and the way you light up whenever the other enters a room, then, yeah, I can understand her not wanting to be here right now. Even if you and Alice are broken up. This self-imposed exile might be good for her, maybe especially because of that. She wasn’t the first person you clung to when you came to — she wasn’t even the second.»  
Quentins mind is reeling from this. The implication that…  
«To be fair, neither of those hugs were really initiated by me,» he tries to deflect. «So don’t put that on me. Alice is a grown woman, just as capable as anyone else to take some damn initiative.» He’s vaguely aware of how defensive and stubborn he sounds.  
And yet, Julia’s not really having it, steering the conversation back where she really thinks the problem lies.  
«Yes, well, when the options are seeing your very-recently-ex-boyfriend and his best-friend-he-once-cheated-on-you-with-and-possibly-has-reciprocated-feelings-for most likely dance around each other or doing actual meaningful work, I really don’t blame her for choosing the one she was most comfortable with. Even if that is removing the remnants of fascist leadership in the biggest library in the world with one of the people who used to work for said fascist leader.»  
«Oh, uhm, I guess — yeah, I can see that,» Quentin says bleakly, voice barely over a whisper. His eyes hasn’t left Eliot a second, not daring to. He doesn’t think he could bear the look in Julia’s eyes, anyway, knowing she’s right about at least some of it.  
«Alice is a tough cookie,» she says. «For once, she’s removing herself from a situation that might potentially hurt her. Don’t be angry with her for taking care of herself.»  
Quentin draws in a fortifying, deep breath, before releasing it quickly, still refusing to meet Julia’s eyes. He picks up his coffee again, just to have something to do. Drawing in the smell of coffee helps ground him, and the cup also works well for hiding his face a little.  
«I never actually told you the full story of how we got the time key, right?» Quentin asks, knowing full well that he hadn’t. It hadn’t felt like it was his story alone to tell, and maybe not one he was ready to share with anyone else, but maybe it really was about time he shared it with his oldest friend. He was pretty sure Eliot would have told Margo by now, anyway, so it couldn’t hurt, could it?   
Julia shakes her head, looking like she’s about to tell him that he doesn’t actually have to tell her if he doesn’t want to. Quentin doesn’t give her time to voice it out loud, scared he’ll take the easy out she’s willing to give him.  
«Me and Eliot, we used one of the other keys to wind up the portal clock, and it brought us to Fillory. To, uhm, the Mosaic,» he starts.   
He can see Julias eyes light up. «Oh, like in the books? Jane goes there, but it’s already solved when she gets there.»   
Quentin gives her a soft smile, he had almost forgotten that Julia knew the books almost as well as himself. He’s missed talking to her about the Fillory they’d grown up with, instead of the slightly shittier version of their adult lives.  
«Yes, exactly. The very same mosaic. Guess we solved it first,» he says with a shrug, aiming for a flippant tone and ending up somewhere around anxious.   
He can practically see the wheels turning in Julia’s head.   
«But, wait. She was met by an old man in the book, the one who had already solved it.» She looks at him, eyes wide now.  
«Yeah,» Quentin sighs. «The portal bought us to Fillory in the past, decades before the Chatwin children ever arrived. We— we spent a lot of time there, to solve it. 50 years. I had a—a wife, Arielle, and a son. And Eliot. We spent 50 years there, as a family. Had grandkids, even. Then he died and when I, uh, buried Eliot in the small garden patch outside our little cottage, I dug up a tile. A golden one, the last, missing piece of the puzzle. And then Jane arrived, and she needed the key, so I gave it to her. And I — I wrote this letter, and arranged for it to be delivered to Margo in the future, our at-the-time present, so she could retrieve it from Jane. And I, uh, I guess I’ve died before,» he tries to joke. It falls flat.   
Quentin lets out a shaky breath, eyes flacking around without really settling anywhere, especially not on Julia. Or Eliot, where he’s sitting in the living room.  
«And Margo, she got the key and stopped us from ever going to the mosaic, but we—Eliot and I still remembered it, decades of us being a family.» Quentin drags his hands down his face, hoping he can school it into something a little less caring, something a little less hurt. «I asked if we could maybe have that again, here, and he—he said no. It wasn’t us, not if we had a choice. And then, you know, he got possessed by a monster and I wasn’t me and then I guess I died. Again.» He really doesn’t mean for it to sound so bitter.  
Julia lets out a breathy wow. «You were in the books a second time, and you didn’t even tell me?» she says accusingly, her hand slapping him in the chest.   
«No, wait, that’s not my actual take away from this story, I promise! Let me start over,» Julia hurries to correct, but there’s a smile on her face and a glint in her eyes telling him that she’s not dropping that thread completely, just putting it aside for now. She’s probably freaking out a little on the inside, just like Quentin does whenever he thinks about it.  
«People change,» Julia says. «Circumstances are different now, and you’ve both changed so much. I really think that if you wanted to ask him again, try it again, his answer might have changed.»  
Quentin finally meets her gaze, heaving out a small sigh. «I don’t know if I could take it, again, if his answer hasn’t changed. Why should it be me? Can’t he just…» He makes a frustrated hand gesture, vaguely aimed in the direction of the couch.  
Julia puts her hand on his cheek, comforting him. «He changed while you were…» She pauses, trying to find a more delicate way of putting it. «…Not here, but he’s fundamentally still Eliot. Does being vulnerable and emotionally open sound like something Eliot would readily do?»   
«I suppose not, but… I haven’t seen any proof that he wants this now, so I don’t see why I should,» he says stubbornly, still convinced that this isn’t only on him.   
«Oh, I know. But isn’t it worth it, if the end result is happiness for both of you?» Julia slides her hand down to his shoulder. «And besides, you don’t have to do it right now, it can wait a little longer.» A gleeful smirk settles on her face, one eyebrow raised. It doesn’t bode well.   
«Sweat him, just a little. Test to see if you still think interest is there.» She uses one hand to gesture to all of him. «Use what you’ve got to seduce the pants off him.»

It’s not like he is purposely ignoring Eliot, but he does, however, go a little out of his way to avoid being alone with him the coming days. He doesn’t want to do anything of the sort, but he does take a few days to think about what Julia had said, what Alice had implied. It feels — wrong, somehow, like he’s stuck in some sort of dream where everyone is wildly helpful without being helpful at all, and you wake up confused about things you didn’t even realize you could be confused about. He doesn’t like it.  
  
Just over a week in, he’s so sick of bland food that he thinks he might vomit if he so much as think about oats. Somehow, he manages to convince Julia he’s going to be fine, and they end up compromising about dinner. Instead of the thai food Quentin has spent the entire day dreaming about eating, they settle for ordering some pizza.   
Eliot comes home from a checkup with Lipson that afternoon and loudly declares it a good day. She has, apparently, finally okayed him for small amounts of alcohol, and naturally, that means Eliot stopped by the store on his way home to pick up three bottles of decent wine.   
«It’s going to be fine, Julia,» Eliot whines, when she immediately picks up two of the bottles and put them away.   
«Small amounts does not mean three bottles, Eliot,» she scolds playfully, but there’s a smile on her face almost immediately, so he just makes a mocking pout at her.  
Eliot turns to Quentin, sitting on the couch awaiting pizza delivery, and gives him a playful wink.   
«I know where she put them,» he stage whispers, and Quentin can’t help but respond with a grin of his own, already imagining the disapproving tilt of her mouth.

Once the pizza and Julia-approved single bottle of wine is gone, Julia declares that it’s been a long day, and she’ll be heading for bed now. «Good evening, mister,» she says as she turns to Quentin and winks. She couldn’t have been more obvious in her intent of leaving him alone with Eliot. Quentin can feel his cheeks warm up against his will, thinking about Julia telling him to seduce Eliot.

Julia is barely even up the stairs before Eliot is on his feet, headed for the kitchen. Quentin sinks down to the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against it. When Eliot comes back, there’s one bottle in each of his hands and a wide grin on his face.   
«Told you I knew where she put them,» he says happily, sitting back down next to Quentin, maybe just a little bit closer than he was before fetching more wine.  
Quentin chooses not to comment on it, only reveling in the arm slung casually —friendly— over his shoulder as Eliot leans in even closer, putting on a conspiratorially whispering tone.  
«Now, Quentin, which birthday are you gonna start celebrating now?» he ask, eyes twinkling at Quentin over the rim of his freshly refilled wine glass. «Oh, or are you going to use this as the excellent excuse it is to celebrate twice? I know I would.»   
Quentin glares at him, silently holding out his own wine glass for a refill. «Yeah, that sounds like me, for sure,» he deadpans.   
«Yeah, no, maybe not,» Eliot laughs, before raising his glass in toast. «Well, here’s to your continued existence for the years to come,» he says, with a soft, sad smile on his face.   
With the way Eliot’s casually leaning back against the sofa, the scene is so similar to the toast he’d given on their first anniversary at the Mosaic it hurts. It feels like a stab to the gut, and Quentin feels his pulse starts racing. He’s is sure Eliots thoughts have also gone there, because he freezes after a second and lowers his glass again, face schooled into a more neutral expression.  
Quentin speaks before he has even decided to do so.   
«Hey,» he says, with a small, hopeful smile. Something on Eliot face softens again in recognition, and there is something hopeful, expectant, there too. It is a familiar scene to them both, after all.  
There’s a split second where Eliot thinks Quentin’s going to back down, but then suddenly Quentin is right there, in his space, breathing in the same air as Eliot. His lips, soft and slightly parted, so close to his own.  
Eliot sucks in a shaky breath. «Q, are you sure about this?» he asks, soft and quiet between them, and the next thing he knows, Quentins lips are pressing against his and they are even softer than he remembers. He stills, stunned.  
Eliot can feel Quentin start to back away, but he raises his hand to hold around Quentins neck, pulling him back in and encouraging him to stay so he can finally kiss him back proper.   
«I’m so sorry, Q,» Eliot says when they finally part, voice strained. He can see Quentins face falling slightly before going back to a more neutral expression.   
«Oh, no, not for this, not at all, sweetheart,» he hurries to say, the pet name just slipping out. Quentin seems to either not notice or mind it.  
«For what I said that day, in the throne room. I was scared, and…» Eliot trails off, looking painfully honest and open, eyes wide where they’re meeting Quentins. «I’m still scared, but I think—I hope I’m better equipped to work though it now. I’m ready to stop running,» he whispers. And then, quietly, adds «If you’ll have me,» sounding so young and uncertain, earnest in a way he’s very rarely seen him before, that Quentin wants to swaddle him in as many blankets as the penthouse contains and then hold him for the next year or so.  
«You know,» Quentin starts, engulfing Eliot in a hug, much needed for both of them. «When I propositioned you in that throne room, the proof of concept I was talking about wasn’t an expectation that we’d immediately just work here. We’re, uh, very different, here, than what we were in Fillory. But, we work, as in we became good at knowing what the other needed. When we needed space, when to push. And then suddenly we were someone else, but we still had the memories of how good we were, as a team, and yet you thought I needed space, and I didn’t dare push you. I wish I had.»  
«Oh, Q, it’s not on you to push me all the time,» Eliot replies, «I should just be better at pushing myself.» He sighs heavily. «I have some character defects, I’m working on them.»   
Quentin smiles at him. «I do too, wanna work on them together?»  
«Yeah,» Eliot sighs, earning himself a lapful of Quentin.

**Author's Note:**

> And as always, I can be found on [tumblr](https://the-fandom-life-rocks.tumblr.com)


End file.
